


Ethereal

by im_engineering_shes_biochem



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Body Paint, F/M, Relaxation, Stars, fitz is so in love, i wrote my own headcanon into a fic, jemma needs to chill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 10:50:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5287865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_engineering_shes_biochem/pseuds/im_engineering_shes_biochem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz paints galaxies across Jemma's back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ethereal

The word 'relaxation' was not a part of Jemma Simmons' extensive mental dictionary. When Fitz had first suggested a day of relaxation, she had only nodded absentmindedly before turning the page in her monolith binder and gripping her fingers into her hair.

"Jemma, did you even hear me?"

"No, sorry, what?" she murmured, scribbling something in the margin. Fitz smiled and approached her side of the lab table before plucking the pen from her hands and closing the book.

"Leo," Jemma objected sharply, trying to snatch them back.

"We need a relaxation day," repeated Fitz while he put the notes away on the top shelf where she wouldn't be able to reach it.

"You may need a relaxation day, but I've been doing nothing for weeks, give me it back."

He gave her a stern look. "Jemma, you're overworking yourself already. How much sleep did you get last night?"

"I had to reanalyze the alien matter before I could sleep," she protested, but Fitz shook his head.

"This was hard for Bobbi, too. You can't launch yourself back into your work after experiencing trauma, Jemma. You've got to wade into it. Bob started with two hours a day, then build back up to twelve."

"I'm fine." Jemma's tired eyes were begging, but Fitz cared more for her health.

"C'mon, Jemma. How do you normally relax?" She stared at him. "Okay, would a back rub help? That's what Bob did the first few weeks." 

She stared at him again before melting into a smirk at his confusion. "I'm sure you'll remember that time at academy when you tried to rub my shoulders while I wrote up my chem final?"

Of course Fitz remembered. He'd surprised her in the library with warm tea and Michael Bublé music playing through noise-blocking headphones, but when he'd attempted to massage some of the stress out of her, she'd flinched away and started giggling like he'd never seen her giggle before. Jemma said she'd been an extremely ticklish girl ever since her scoliosis surgery, some strange side effect from the displaced nerves. Fitz just assumed Jemma was still a child at heart and couldn't handle actual physical intimacy without giggling like one. Fitz was the same way at the academy, and he usually started laughing at something as simple as the way Jemma's accent thickened when she got angry.

"So not a massage," he said with a grin, and Jemma shook her little crinkled nose.

"Nice try, though." Fitz smiled as she attempted to reach her notebook again.

"You like the stars, right?" he blurt all of a sudden. Jemma lowered from her tip toes.

"I am quite fond of them, yes. My dad-"

"-wheeled your frail broken back outside every night and taught you the constellations, right?" Jemma smiled and nodded.

"You see," Fitz continued, "When I was doing research on the portal's otherworldly location, I learned quite a lot about the stars. Not only did it help me decipher where you were, it kept me in touch with you, odd as it sounds. There was a point when I couldn't sleep, I was so focused on the stars, so I opened some paint I found in storage and painted galaxies up and down my arms. It helped me to slow my mind, even out my heartbeat."

Jemma was going to say something, but she didn't know what, so she just looked at him with eyes full of appreciation. She'd read studies about therapeutical painting, even tried some with Andrew, but she'd never thought it actually helped people. She was glad Fitz found something to help him.

"Now I know you're not the most artistic type, but just feeling a wet brush move across my skin was enough to quiet my nerves. Would you want to-"

"That sounds lovely, Fitz," Jemma cut him off before he could lose his confidence in the idea. It really did sound like fantastic stress relief.

"Do you want me to grab materials then meet you in your bunk?" Fitz asked cautiously.

"Okay," Jemma replied, also nervous for no reason at all.

When Fitz entered her bunk with three pails balanced in one arm and a bag of brushes in the other, Jemma was sitting cross-legged on the foot of her bed. He closed the bunk door with his foot, then placed the paint on the night stand and pulled a chair towards her, but didn't sit in it. Instead he began opening the buckets and mixing colors on the plastic bag. Jemma bit her lip as some dark blue dripped dangerously close to the tabletop.

"I was thinking your back would be best," Fitz managed through the handle of the paintbrush in his mouth as he adjusted her desk lamp to shine across the cottony towels she'd draped across her bed. "More surface area, bigger galaxies."

Jemma nodded, unzipping her hoodie. Fitz looked so focused on creating the right hues that he wouldn't notice her, so she took a deep breath and stretched her shirt up and over her head. Then she laid face down on the towels she'd draped across her covers, hands gathering her hair above her shoulders into a messy ponytail.

Jemma heard him turn around, brush ready, then she heard a soft, unintentional gasp. Suddenly she felt very bare, and she stretched her arms out in front of her in an attempt to stay unaffected. For a few seconds there was no sound except the flick of a light switch as Fitz tried to redirect his attention to painting.

"Are you ready?" he breathed, pulling the night stand closer and pushing the chair back decidedly. Jemma nodded into her pillow, and Fitz barely caught the movement in the scarce light. "Okay," he said, almost sounding like he was convincing himself.

Suddenly, Jemma felt a warm brush of fingers against her upper right shoulder, and she shivered. Fitz lifted his fingers almost immediately. "I'll start here, okay?"

"Okay," Jemma agreed, bracing herself against the undoubtedly cold liquid. Soon enough, she felt the glide of wet paint across her shoulder, and sure enough it was an icy contrast to Fitz's scalding touch. He worked horizontal lines from one shoulder to another with a thick brush, smoothing the coolness over her upper back until the temperature had adjusted. Like Fitz had promised, the smooth stroke of paint calmed her to a sleep-like state, and she released a deep sigh that had been winding up inside her for months.

Fitz lightly tapped the fabric of her bra, and Jemma nodded laxly. He unclasped it and let the straps fall to the sides before starting on another section of skin. The heavy coat of paint blotted out her pasty skin and light freckles, covering her like a blanket, and with each stroke she seemed to sink further into her mattress. Her spine blended into her ribs blended into her scapulae blending into the tips of her pelvic bone, and all was uniform except for a single spot at the base of her backbone.

"The scar's the North Star," Fitz explained, placing a finger over it gently, and Jemma let out a carefree laugh into the pillow cover. "I have to wait for the rest to dry before I start on Ursa Minor."

"Could you do Leo first?" she asked without thinking it through too much.

"Sure," he replied, smile heard clearly in his tone. Then Jemma felt Fitz's breath against her damp back, and she grinned to herself. After a few moments of the hot air, it was replaced with his hand splayed across her lower back.

"Dry?" she mumbled softly.

"Mmhm," Fitz agreed, pressing his palm into her before pulling it back again. Jemma expected thinner lines to cross her shoulders next, but instead she felt a warm, dry lips against her skin. Her exposed scar. And it stayed, sending shivers up her spine.

"Fitz?" Jemma whispered, opening her eyes, and the warmth pulled away almost immediately.

"Sorry," he spoke towards the ground. "Shouldn't have done that." Jemma wanted to reach out for him, but she was still full of paint.

"You're okay," she said instead, pulling all the fight she had left into her voice. "Please keep going, it's helping me relax."

Fitz cleared his throat, then she heard the click of a paintbrush being tapped against her night table, and she closed her eyes again. He first drew precise dots of stars across her upper back, then connected them with straight lines, like her back was a connect-the-dot puzzle. She could trace the familiar outlines of Leo, then Ursa Minor, Ursa Major, Cassiopeia, Pegasus, Hercules, Libra, Aquila with her mind, and she could almost see the face of her father's telescope being mapped out across her back.

"Can you believe you've been past these stars?" Fitz asked as though he could read her mind.

"Not through them, though," Jemma replied. "It's not fair."

Fitz marked out one last line segment before dropping his brush and repeating the process of blowing across the fresh paint. Once satisfied, he stood back to admire his work.

"Now you get to be the stars," Fitz announced lovingly, and Jemma wished she could kiss him then and there. He must've read that thought. too, because he knelt down and placed a soft kiss to the shell of her ear.

"Jemma, love, you're ethereal."


End file.
